


A Million Twenty Goals

by mcstromer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Comfort, Dylan Strome is a twenty goal scorer, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Team Canada, Team USA, and I'm destrome's bitch so, anyways this is my first ever time posting, here's my attempt at angst, mark stone is in this for literally one line, tyson Jost as a plotdriver, which turns to fluff very quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcstromer/pseuds/mcstromer
Summary: Alex is sad after Team USA loses.Dylan is just sad in general.Or, Alex realizes how hard things have been for Dylan and tries to help him feel better.





	A Million Twenty Goals

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever posting anything I've written so please bear with me.  
> -  
> Set after Team USA falls to Canada 3-0 in the 2019 IIHF Hockey World Championships  
> I would end it all for DeStrome and that's all you need to know.

“At least I had more than five fucking minutes of ice time,” Alex jabs, shrugging his boyfriend’s arm off of his shoulder. They’re exiting the arena, Alex devastated by a 3-0 loss to Canada. Dylan was chirping him about it, but Alex wouldn’t have it.

“You know that’s not my fault, Alex, are you kidding me?” Dylan says, taken aback, but then again, not surprised. Alex was always pissy after a hard loss. “I knew you were going to be like this if we won. I knew it.”

But he isn’t listening. “Larkin should’ve stayed down,” he groans, looking anywhere but at Dylan, “Myers and his shit aim never would’ve hit him.”

“If this were the other way around you KNOW I’d be happy for you,” Dylan claims, trying to catch Alex’s gaze, “Can you at least pretend you care? Even a little?” Alex mumbles something he can’t make out, and Dylan sighs, feeling sorry for him but wanting nothing more than for Alex to be proud of him. Maybe he needs a little time alone. “Are you coming over later?”

Alex laughs bitterly. “Treason is a punishable offense,” he mocks, “Can’t be caught sleeping with the enemy.”

“Brinks, I know you’re upset but can you please just-“

“I feel fucking awful, Dylan. I let my team down. Couldn’t even get a shot in. That’s embarrassing,” Alex snaps, “So forgive me if i want to go feel sorry for myself in peace. Jesus.” He heads off towards the bus, without another word.

 

Dylan knows the feeling all too well. He wishes he could protect Alex from it; wrap him up in all kinds of good things and shelter him from every pain imaginable.

He makes his way to the Canadian bus, congratulating his teammates, returning their high fives, fist bumps, and bro hugs. He’s happy, he thinks. At least, he should be happy. This is another step towards a gold medal, and Dylan can practically taste it between his teeth. He deserves it, right?

Taking a seat besides an already sleeping Tyson Jost, Dylan pulls out his phone.

 

- _brinks- i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have rubbed it in ur face like that. pls come over later, i miss sleeping next to u_.-

 

“Boyfriend’s mad, eh?”

Dylan jumps in his seat, scrambling to turn his phone off. “I- What? Boyfriend? Ha. Haha. Too funny.”

“Relax, Stromer. It’s chill,” Jost says, shaking Dylan’s shoulder, then leaning in close to whisper something in his ear, “At least Alex is in Slovakia. It’s been a month since I’ve seen mine.”

“You- you’re gay?” Dylan blurts, a little too loudly, ears turning bright red.

Tyson shushes him, looking up to see if anyone overheard. “You’re not the only closeted cheller, but I have a feeling you already knew that,” he winks, “97 really did you in during minors, yeah?”

Dylan flinches. “Um, yeah, I don’t really talk about that anymore. Connor’s not actually gay, he- i-,” he clears his throat, “It was a phase, you know?”

Dylan narrows his eyes when Tyson laughs. “Sure,” Tyson manages, still giggling, “If that’s what you think. But Nursey over there has told me otherwise.”

Dylan’s eyes get big. He doesn’t care, well, not really, because he and Connor are still friends, nothing more. But Davo has a girlfriend.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Jost leans in, “But apparently Draisaitl is assisting with more than just goals.”

“No fucking way,” Dylan pulls out his phone, “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Dunno, Stromer, but keep this on the DL, okay?”

Dylan finishes typing his message to Connor, and looks up to reassure Jost that his secret is safe, but he’s already fast asleep once again.

 

- _hey davo! me & brinks miss u at worlds. you’ll never guess who i ran into the other day. leon! you guys r close, eh? haha. happy for u, bud. glad edmonton isn’t all bad. call soon!_-

 

 

——

 

He wakes up an hour later, finally at the hotel. Tyson is snoring lightly, and Dylan shakes him awake. They get off the bus, groggy from their naps, and Tyson winks at him before heading to his room. “Good luck with your situation, Stromer.”

Dylan rolls his eyes, stepping into the elevator with a few teammates, everyone tired but happy after an important win. Stone ruffles his hair, clapping him on the back, and Dylan smiles, feeling like maybe he does belong on the team. It’s a brief moment, gone in a minute, when he reaches his room, sitting down on his bed alone, thinking about what Alex said earlier.

Five fucking minutes of ice time. Dylan got moved down once again, this time playing as a fifth center alternate. He sighs deeply, feeling a dark disappointment take hold. He misses Alex.

He takes a cold shower, sliding into fresh boxers and a Hawks t-shirt, and then climbs into bed. The Blues-Sharks game is on, and although Dylan is tired, he wants to see if the Sharks will yet again pull a game seven out of their collective ass.

 

He’s nodding off when his phone buzzes.

 

_-open your stupid door-_

 

Standing up quick, he darts over and opens it.

Alex practically falls into his arms, eyes red and puffy.

“Hi,” Dylan mumbles into his hair.

“I want to go home,” Alex responds, breaking into tears.

“Michigan?”

“No, Chicago,” Alex manages, “With you.”

Dylan feels his heart soften as he leads him to the bed, tucking them both in. “I got you, Cat, it’s okay.”

Alex sniffles, curling up into Dylan’s lap. “I’m sorry i snapped at you,” he starts, “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s ok, Alex. I promise. You’re honestly right. I didn’t do much to help the team win this one. I probably made it worse, if we’re being real. I have no reason to brag,” Dylan aches, feeling sick.

“You’re so stupid,” Alex responds, laughing a little into his boyfriend’s chest, “Like actually.”

Dylan takes a deep breath. It’s quiet for a moment, but he can feel it boiling up inside of him. This isn’t fair. It’s never been fair.

“It’s not fucking funny? I went from the top line to basically a healthy scratch. I haven’t been a healthy scratch since Arizona,” Dylan finally replies, loosening his arms around Alex, “Maybe the run I had at the end of the season was just a temporary thing? Like, a new surroundings thing? Maybe it’ll fade and I’ll still be a fucking bust, Alex. At least you’re living up to people’s expectations of you, at least you’re not a disappointment to everyone who’s ever given you a chance? Can you, for once in your fucking life, realize that what you’re feeling right now is how I’ve felt for the past five years?”

It’s silent. Neither of them dares to move for what feels like forever, until Dylan reaches for the tv remote, hitting play. Alex is still in his lap, quiet, when he starts to cry. He cranks up the volume of the game, hoping that Alex won’t notice, but it’s too late.

Alex jerks the remote out of Dylan’s hand, turning the tv off. He repositions himself, sitting up against the headboard with a slouching Dylan in his arms. Dylan shakes with silent sobs as Alex pulls him closer, running a hand through his messy curls.

“I didn’t know, Dyl. I’m so sorry,” Alex says softly, “But I think you’re wrong.”

Dylan scoffs, but before he can respond, Alex continues. “Arizona treated you awful. None of that was your fault. Up and down and up and down- that fucks with you. They fucked with you. I know how you play. You’re amazing, ok? Third overall, behind Davo and Eichel? Incredible,” he feels Dylan relax into his arms a bit more, “Not to mention, the absolute best captain Erie has ever seen. You gave that city hope again, Dyl. You gave them something to be proud of. And don’t start doubting yourself now. You’re a twenty goal scorer, baby! That’s fantastic. You didn’t fit in Arizona. You fit in Chicago. With me, with us,” he grabs Dylan’s hand, “IIHF is hard. It’s a lot of pressure. You’re playing with the best of the best, when you’re just barely starting to realize your potential,” he inhales slowly, “The way I’ve felt today is probably one of the worst feelings ever. I can't imagine living with that for so long. I wish I could take it all back, Dylan. I wish I could go back in time and take all of it from you, put it on myself. I wish I could’ve at least been there. For you. For us.”

It’s quiet. Dylan gradually stops crying, and looks over to Alex. Alex has tears in his eyes, too, and Dylan knows that everything he said was genuine. He sniffles, feeling more tears well up inside him, this time grateful ones.

He breaks the silence, pulling Alex as close as he can, gentle sobs wracking his body. He can hear Alex crying too, and he can feel their lungs breathing heavily against each other. They slide further under the covers, still holding each other tightly. “I would trade a million 20 goal scoring seasons,” Dylan starts, “for one shitty one, as long as you were with me.”

He feels Alex let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to choose anymore, Dyl. You can have all the goals you want, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

They stay like that for a minute, just taking in each other’s presence, hands held tight between them. Dylan leans in to kiss Alex, softly and deeply, but his phone buzzes. “What the fuck,” he mumbles, reaching behind himself to find it.

 

_-hey stromer! good to hear from u. how r you & brinksy doing?- _

 

It’s Connor. Dylan starts typing a response along the lines of, talk to you tomorrow its late, when he gets another message.

 

_-about draisaitl. i didn’t mean for u to find out this way. tbh it’s not even a legit thing. u know how it is w teammates. it’s too easy to start something up and too hard to stop. it’s complicated, u know?-_

 

Alex swats at the phone. “Who is it?”

“Connor, actually.” Alex raises an eyebrow. Dylan shrugs, “Josty told me him and Leon have been hooking up. Which is weird because-“

“Wait, what about Lauren?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Dylan continues, “Anyways, I just wanted to check up, see what’s going on.”

“He always has the worst timing,” Alex groans, rolling to his back. Dylan checks the time. It’s almost midnight.

 

_-actually, i can call right now if u have time-_

 

“He wants me to call,” Dylan mutters, “But I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to hear what he has to say,” Alex responds, turning back to face Dylan, “Put it on speaker.”

 

Connor answers on the first ring. “Hey Dyls! 'Sup?”

“Not much, Davo how are you?” he asks, sitting up.

“I’m good! Finally got the leg cleared to start practicing again, so that’s awesome.”

“That’s great! Glad to hear it,” Dylan looks down at Alex, who’s laying in bed patiently scrolling on twitter. He looks so peaceful. All Dylan wants to do is lay back down and kiss him senseless. “Hey listen, uh, it’s actually pretty late here, I was just about to go to bed, but I wanted to make sure everything’s ok. You know, with Lauren and shit.”

Connor lets out a nervous laugh, and Alex looks up skeptically from his phone, raising an eyebrow at Dylan’s forwardness. “Yeah, about that. She, uh, she doesn’t know. About me and Leon. and I’d- I’d like to keep it that way.”

Alex exhales sharply through his nose, turning back towards his phone, eyebrows raised. “Bro, that’s- that’s kind of fucked up, Connor,” Dylan continues.

“Yeah, I know but, there’s not really anything I can do about it.”

“You could, break up with her? Or something?”

“It’s not that easy, Dyls. And try not to sound so jealous, eh? You have Alex to worry about.”

Alex lets out a sharp laugh. “I’m right here, Connor. Watch it,” he snaps, not looking away from his twitter feed.

“Briiiiiiiiinksy! My man. How‘s it going?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Yeah, I saw. Tough loss for you guys today. You’ll get 'em next time, though. As long as I stay off the roster.”

“Whatever, Connor,” Alex rolls his eyes, “We really need to get some sleep, but it was nice talking to you.”

“Dyls? You gonna let the short one boss you around like that?” Connor laughs.

“Just, shut up, dude. I don’t think you should cheat on Lauren. she’s a really nice girl,” Dylan sighs, “Goodnight, man.”

“Hey, wait I-“ Dylan hangs up.

 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he mutters, sliding back into bed.

Alex tucks his phone away, and grabs for Dylan’s, too. He turns it off for the night and puts it under his pillow. “No more of that,” he says, looking slightly pissed, “What an asshole.”

“He’s not that bad, Alex, I promise. He’s just...” Dylan pauses, trying to find the right word.

“An asshole? Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on him right now. Always has been. He’s got a lot to live up to. You know he’s a good guy,” Dylan replies, sick of making excuses for Connor. He knows Connor can be bitchy, especially to Alex, but deep down, he’s just a kid, struggling with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Whatever,” Alex retorts, burrowing further into the mattress, “Anyways.”

Dylan can’t help but smile, a beautiful bright thing that takes over his entire face. He runs his hand through Alex’s hair, pulling his head closer, and finally closing the gap between their lips.

 

——

 

He’s kissed Alex more times than he can count.

The first, after a game winning goal in Erie, their hair bleached a color they dubbed playoff yellow, full of adrenaline and cheap champagne on the balcony of their hotel room.

The second, sober this time, alone in the locker room after Alex won the Tilson trophy, still high off of their big win, too proud of a captain not to show his alternate how he felt.

The third, drunk again, in the Raddysh house, celebrating the championship, after 5 shots of tequila each, leaving the party in the basement only to end up in the master bedroom, pants at their ankles, kissing everything but each other’s lips.

The feeling never changed, though. A little nervous beforehand, but too infatuated to care. It was always soft, at least at first, at least until Dylan couldn’t take it anymore. They could feel each other’s smiles, but knew exactly how to turn them into jaw-dropped moans, left gasping for air with no return.

It had been like this at first. So thirsty for each other, so desperate, but too scared. Swollen lips and hickeys were questioned at practice, rumors of the captain and alternate spread like wildfire in the cold Canadian town. The gentle touches they would sneak on the bus, the soft smiles they would share on the ice, the warm nudges from the bench. It was a quiet, but beautiful kind of love, and they shared it nonetheless.

 

——

 

Now, when Dylan kisses Alex it’s hungrier. No longer do they have to sneak around, tip-toeing home at 6 am before practice, dodging any and all questions of where they had been the night before.

He feels Alex’s hands snaking up his back, forcing him closer, throwing a leg over Dylan’s. Dylan kisses him deeper, slipping his tongue into Alex’s mouth and feeling him shiver under his touch.

After a few minutes they pull apart, taking big gulps of air. “We should go to bed before this escalates,” Alex says through labored breaths. Dylan groans, already half hard in his boxers. But he knows Alex is right. These things never end as quickly as they should.

Alex laughs at him softly, “You’re too easy, Dylan. I barely touch you and this always happens.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, burying his face in the pillow, “Goodnight, loser.”

“Ok, first of all, too soon,” Alex gets up and walks over to the bathroom, “Second of all, can I borrow something to sleep in?” he asks, motioning to the drawers by the wall.

“My clothes are still in the suitcase, but sure,” Dylan mumbles, already incoherent with sleep.

“Lazy,” Alex chirps, throwing on one of Dylan’s old Erie shirts and a worn in pair of boxers. He turns off the light on the nightstand as he slips back under the covers.

“G’night,” a sleepy Dylan manages, puckering his lips but keeping his eyes glued shut. Alex laughs, meeting his kiss, and the two of them fall asleep in minutes, feeling peaceful for the first time all day.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the product of me feeling sad about Team USA losing and Arizona fucking over Dylan Strome!  
> I might continue this but who knows.  
> -  
> Biggest love to my baby K for encouraging me to Actually Write.


End file.
